


The Rule of Two

by Niko_Niko_Neek



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Dark, Inquisitor Cal Kestis, Oneshot/drabble, Other, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niko_Niko_Neek/pseuds/Niko_Niko_Neek
Summary: I, too, have a destiny. This death will be art. The people will speak of this day from near and afar. This event will be history, and I'll be great, too. I don't want what you have. I want to be you.Alternatively, Cal Kestis makes a choice.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	The Rule of Two

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Brutus by The Buttress for literally all of this.

Though the saber in his hand glows red by his own design, his own choices, he will forever despise her and what she did to him.

The heat radiating upward from the metal floors of the Sith Dojo inflame Cal’s face, causing him to run his free hand back through his hair. On the opposite side of the training hall, Trilla watches him. They have been practicing for hours, years in total, and still he feels no better than he was the first time he attempted to fight her on Brocca. The self-satisfied smug on her face ignites further fury. There is never any pride for his accomplishments, though he knows that there are many.

She is better than him, still.

The training of a Sith is not so peaceful as for a Jedi. Here, violence is encouraged, bloodshed is a reward. Cal is riddled with cuts, some fresh and others old, and slipping into his hatred has become seductively easy. He hates most everything, now. Himself, for having wasted so much time on a foolish errand which would never transpire. Cere, for enabling it. Merrin and Greeze, for never bothering to try and come back for him.

Most of all, he hates Trilla. Hates how easily this all seems to come to her.

“Not good enough, Kestis.”

His mouth flares into a snarl. Twice, now, she has embarrassed him in front of Lord Vader. He will not be making it a third time.

“You’re conceptualizing too much,” she chides him. “An old Jedi habit. I used to suffer from the same thing. Don’t think about your actions, Cal, just commit to them and go from there.” Trilla’s dual sabers flourish in the dim lighting and she settles into her signature stance. 

Cal’s frustration eases. Though he hates Trilla, will never forgive the pain she has caused him through the many months of breaking him, he understands her better than he has understood anyone. The saber is an extension of the person who wields it, and when he grasped the one she carried in the vault, Cal was provided a glimpse into something like the soul. This is her method of helping him. It is the only one she knows.

The spar begins again.

Trilla’s method is to keep a distance from him at first, and then dart in with an unrelenting chain of attacks. Cal knows this. He maneuvers his way out of the reach of her blade, though it isn’t for a lack of effort. The rest, he manages to parry. Barely.

“Stop thinking! Attack!” Trilla commands.

Cal obliged. There is a fury to his movements now. What had once been measured and controlled is now a vicious onslaught. It is pain that he uses, years of it, channelled back out through his mind and his body in one of the more powerful channels of the Dark Side.

In the Inquisitorial Fortress, he has become everything he hates. In the Sith Dojo, he becomes a God.

The self-hatred, after Cal had first tapped into the dark side, had been immense. Visions of his mentor tormented his subconscious, silently asking a simple question of why. But, like all things, it became steadily easier the more often Cal was forced to use it. Now, it is second nature. The spar itself is a well-rehearesed dance, one that he and Trilla have done dozens of times now.

There is only one moment where everything changes.

Red plasma clashes against red plasma, and it is at that moment Cal recognizes the glinting figure of Lord Vader, observing them from the viewport above. Suddenly, it is as if everything drops to slow motion. His own breath is audible in his ears.

There is a rule which governs all Sith in the galaxy, which transcends species and time, a rule which must never be broken or bent.

This is the Rule of Two. The Rule which dictates, at any given time, a master and an apprentice.

Right now, there are three.

Emotions swell in him, and his fighting grows clumsy. Trilla carves two thin slashes into his upper arm.

He doesn’t want to kill her.

She is the only friend he has left.

Cal Kestis is given a choice. He watches as Trilla’s expression flickers into brief annoyance, then conclusion, then something almost like fear. His hand tightens on the metal hilt of his saber.

Cal Kestis has a choice, and he makes it.

He decides to win.

His attacks, after that choice is made, are without paramount. Trilla’s movements now seem painfully predictable, easy to parry and knock away. Step by step, he advances, and she retreats, for once thrown off balance at the edge of the magma inferno. There is a heaviness in his heart as he sees what the outcome will be, understands that Trilla will die believing that she had been betrayed, the single pattern in her short life.

Out of respect for her and her suffering, Cal makes her death short. The scarlet plasma in his blade sinks into her chest, interrupting the steady pulse of her heart. One hand grips her wrist. 

She doesn’t even have the time to be sad.

When he lets go, Trilla pitches backwards, limbs no longer bearing any support. She falls forever.

He stands, staring into the flames. She is consumed within seconds. His saber remains in his hand. Silently, he says goodbye.

When he turns back to face Vader, he leaves behind the last exhalation of the boy who was Cal Kestis.


End file.
